Vines We Do Not Need To See, We Feel Remix
by PurpleYin
Summary: RodneyKatie, but possibly implying something else. Remix of Vines by lilyayl for gateverse remix. This is her place, and for a night at least, she thinks it's theirs.


A/N: This is a remix of lilyay's story "Vines" for gatverse remix. Not sure where this went but I got caught up in the idea of the vines, and stuff evolved from there. It did turn out angsty but I surprised myself in rather liking writing Rodney/Katie this way. I hope I did the original justice in the remix, I kept the dialogue from it because I didn't think changing that'd achieve anything because I like it, so it's remix of the same scene with added thoughts and feelings and extra imagery and twist around it. :)

Also, couldn't resist a Doctor Who reference. I blame saphanibaal's Katie Brown fic **"Quarks: Truth and Beauty"** for that because I can't get the idea she's a fan out of my head now. :)

Much appreciation to Fififolle and rodlox for their betas of it.

* * *

The greenhouse is dark. Barely any light makes it's way through the glassy ceiling – the vines entwine the supports far above, enclosing the space with their canopy. Most of the other botanists dislike this space, feel it's suffocating, but she is drawn to it – her quarters are attached, this is more or less her own private hideaway, with the exception of Parrish's ongoing work here. He's as fascinated as her and braver than most, but even still he never comes here after sunset.

Her greenhouse is left with scant light in the day, and at night, there is none except the candles she lights. She had tried using normal lamps but the plants hate the fake UV from them and she can't bring herself to use those anymore. Ever since she stopped using them she's seen an improvement in this grove of hers, like they're grateful – most of the ferns have changed colours, ones she's never seen any be before, brightening the room in a different way, and the small tree that has unexpectedly seeded itself – and grown up more than most Earth saplings could in the same time – is bearing fruit. She's yet to inform the rest of the department of these developments and she doesn't know why – Tamura would have a field day testing it to see if it's edible and boy, does that women needs cheering up at the moment. It had been a surprise enough to feel the vines reaching out towards her after a few weeks, a friendly touch towards the familiar that they could sense. That was slightly creepy at first and brought on a sense of déjà vu from the last botany crisis, on P3X-912, where a planet full of flora hadn't exactly been empty or harmless.

Rodney enters, breaking her from her daydreaming, and Katie is reminded how good she's got it right now.

"Katie?"

She loves the way he says her name because it's with a hint of nervousness, like she has a power over him. With other women he fawns or belittles, but she knows he only stutters or hesitates when he really cares, when he's worried he won't impress. She sees him doing the same with his friends occasionally, like when Sheppard makes a sharp, but playful, jibe at Rodney's abilities and he'll try to cover up his fear of it being true with a quick reply but somehow stumble mentally, caught.

She remembers just how fortunate she is when he moves across to her, and she can feel the extra heat in the already humid room.

"Are you all right? There aren't any weird pollens in here, are there?"

He tugs up his jacket collar to cover his mouth protectively and neglects to notice how he's exposing a little of his belly. Enough to see smooth flesh, the start of his trail of hair down...but oddly no hint of boxers. Her mind wanders to places she doesn't often find it going, their dates are usually so sweet and it seems like they've been taking it slow, really slow. Too slow. Maybe he's trying to spice life up, going commando. She knows him better than most but sadly not enough to know if that's a very Rodney thing to do. How would she know if he wasn't being himself, if he'd been taken over by spores or alien devices or...? But she stops there, freezes the thought and just accepts this situation. It's not like her but she doesn't care.

"You're safe."

She meant is as a reassurance but it comes out a fact, to match the decisive nature she's feeling as she pulls down his jacket, which whilst covering him up has the added bonus of exposing his mouth. His lips are parted and his hot breath can be felt on her face, so close is she to his by now.

"Are you certain? Remember, I actually **do** _read_ the reports you, Parrish, and Waters submit. I heard about th--"

The words blur in her mind, she doesn't care for them at all right now, she wants silence and knows it can't be beyond him. Closing her eyes, she tightens her embrace, pressing an untender, passionate kiss onto him and finding it returned gloriously. Her hands snake around his back, but she doesn't need to pull him closer, she already feels him seeking the same – instead her lithe hands are slipping under rough fabric, wanting contact, searching for the heat with a fever – like seeking like.

"We can't do this here." His last words of protest are whispers, with barely a hint of protest in them. A feeble egotistical wish not to lose control - and it isn't her control he's under - that he gives into anyway, because neither have the will to resist, they're both lost to the temptation. Hidden away from the city but exposed to one another all of a sudden.

And she replies, words she doesn't need to say but will to make him certain – he will accept anything as rational, they only need one excuse. "Yes, we can," she says with a voice low and edging on a sigh.

Because she knows no one is looking for them.

Because no one knows where to find them.

Because she feels and he feels, and the plants, they know too.

The green tendrils curl up and around them, circling, red stained thorns skim the floor as they make for the door. Eyes that are never taken off each other do not notice the mesh that begins to cover the door.

When she and Rodney are finished, they laze on a bed of their clothing for a while before he has to go – she wishes he'd stay longer but he exits through her apartment, busy with saving the city all over again, doing what he feels he does best. For a man who proclaims to be someone who knows almost everything about almost everything – she's resisted so far in pointing out how close to The Doctor he makes himself sound at times - he doesn't seem to realise he's good at so much more than he will give himself credit for. He is good at lying, particularly to himself.

He takes one look at the door and shakes his head, mumbling about reports again but seems disinclined to do anything about the obstructed exit, choosing to leave through her apartment. She's kind of pleased but she knows in the morning she knows she's going to have to cut the vines over the main door down, but for a little while longer she rests, head cradling her bundled shirt like a pillow.

She looks at the door, enforcing the place as a sanctuary and purposefully ignores the other way out. The criss-crossed vines are knitted, entwined deeply, painfully cutting into the others in an effort to protect.


End file.
